


Graceful Encounter

by bkwrm523



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-05-12 15:28:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5670889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bkwrm523/pseuds/bkwrm523
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A heart-to-heart with your favorite angel leads to an unconventional approach to a night in with your boyfriend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Graceful Encounter

Your orgasm finally dies down, and you fall forward onto Castiel’s chest, panting hard.  His hands catch your shoulders as you begin to topple, stopping your headlong fall and gently lowering you until your lay on your stomach totally on top of his chest.  He is panting as well, although not as hard as you, from his own orgasm.  You both lay there on your bed for several long moments before you have enough energy to look up at Castiel, and wiggle up his body.  This simultaneously gently pulls his cock out of you, as well as moving you in range of his lips for a gentle, chaste kiss.  Castiel lowers one hand as you move, wrapping it around your back and buries the other hand in your hair.  You pull your lips away from his before Castiel can turn the kiss passionate and flop your head back down on his chest.  The hand buried in your hair strokes your scalp gently, making you let out a contented moan.

“My technique is improving,” Castiel notes after a long moment of companionable silence.  “Your orgasms seem to be getting stronger.”

“I should probably say something about how that isn’t the most important aspect of a relationship, but I’m too sated to try it right now.”  Your response is a little slurred from fatigue.  Castiel chuckles, the movement of his chest making your head bounce a little.  You lift your hands to sit on top of his shoulders, enjoying the contact with him.  Below you, your feet move around a little, tangling with his legs.

“I know.”  Castiel replied.  You turn your head to look up at him, finding those bright blue eyes fixed on you with a tender expression.  “I enjoy seeing you happy.  And you definitely seem to enjoy me using my grace.”  You smile back at him, his happiness too infectious to ignore.

“Well, yeah.”  You reply, suddenly worried that he had gotten the wrong impression.  “But you aren’t just a… a sex toy or something to me, Cas.”

“I know.”  Castiel interrupts your train of thought quickly.  He moves the hand in your hair down to cup your cheek.  “I love you, too.”  You smile at him again, before dropping your gaze and pressing your lips together.  “What’s wrong?”  Castiel asks, a concerned note entering his voice.

“I’m just- ugh.  Sorry.  I’m not sure how to say this.”

“It’s all right.  I can wait while you try.”

“I just- I don’t want you to feel like I see your grace as just a…a sex toy, or something.  I mean, yeah, it’s handy and all.  But that isn’t why I like it when you use it.”  You fix your eyes on his bare chest, unable to meet his gaze.  Castiel doesn’t reply yet, just gently strokes your hair and back where his hands rest, giving you time and space to continue.  “It’s…. I love your eyes.  They’re huge and really really blue.”  You finally lift your eyes to briefly meet his, and a small, gentle smile fills his face.  “But they’re not really _your_ eyes.  You picked an attractive vessel, sure.  And it’s nice, but- I don’t love Jimmy Novak.  I love _you_.  I don’t care what your vessel looks like.  Sometimes I remember that I’ll never see the real you.  I’ll never know what color your eyes are, or- or anything else.  I can touch your vessel, but I can’t really touch _you_.  Or see you, not without getting hurt.  When I stroke that cock-” you lower one hand halfway down his side, the gesture accompanying your words about his vessel’s organ.  “I’m not really touching _you_.  And I hate that.  I hate that I can’t.  But when you use your grace, in _some_ way, I can touch the real you.  I can really feel you.  It’s like- the closest I can get to you.   _That’s_ why I love it when you use your grace.”

Hesitantly, you slowly lift your eyes again to meet his, unsure of what you’ll find.  His eyes are soft, tender, and gaze down at you filled with so much love he might burst.  Castiel doesn’t speak.  He gently pulls you up his body and kisses you, softly.  As he does, you feel little tendrils of his grace caress and hold you, everywhere.  He is careful not to touch you anywhere that might arouse you, sensitive of your tired, sated body.  But you have a feeling he gets as much out of using his grace on you as you do.

“How did I get so lucky?”  Castiel finally pulls back from the kiss and nuzzles your face, murmuring the words softly.  “A fallen angel with broken wings.  How did I find someone as wonderful and amazing as you?”

“You’re never broken to me.”  The words spring out of your mouth before you can examine them.  It’s a poor way of expressing how you feel about him, but you think Castiel knows what you mean.  A shy smile breaks out on his face when you speak.  Much as you love seeing him in control, dominating you in bed, you love seeing him happy much more.

***

Several nights later, you sleep in your bed at the bunker, alone.  The Winchesters are out on a case, and you sit back in the bunker in case they need any lore looked up.  Castiel is away, claiming angel business he wouldn’t elaborate on.  You didn’t pry, wanting to give your boyfriend his space.  You had just kissed him on the cheek, told him to be careful, and wished him luck.  He is certainly entitled to his privacy, and you’d known when you’d gotten involved with him that he can’t just spend every night with you.  He doesn’t sleep, after all.  Staying with you _any_ night while you sleep is asking a lot, and you try to cherish every time he does.

You are currently dreaming about butterflies.

You try to catch one, just to hold it in your hands.  But every time you _think_ you have one, it disappears.  It doesn’t depress you, only makes you more determined to keep trying.

“This is more pleasant than your usual dreams.”  A familiar gravelly voice comes from behind you.  You give a startled jump and a squeal, spinning around to see Castiel behind you.  He gives his usual small, shy smile upon seeing you.  You’re starting to realize that his smiles are so rare and small and surprised, probably because part of him doesn’t believe he deserves to be happy, or something.  You don’t say anything to greet him; just leap into a hug, making him chuckle at your enthusiasm.

“I’m dreaming?”  Your face is buried in his trenchcoat, inhaling his scent.  Castiel always smells like the outdoors, and his scent surrounding you along with his arms, pulling you into that familiar ‘safe’ space you always feel when he’s holding you.  You pull back to look at him after a long moment of just enjoying the feel of his arms around you.

“Yes.  This is actually me, though.  Not just a projection of your subconscious.”  Castiel informs you, looking down at where he still holds you.  He glances to the side and frowns slightly.  “Although I suppose a projection of your subconscious would be saying the same thing.”

“It’s okay, Castiel.”  You reassure him with a giggle.  Given the opportunity, Castiel would probably waste several minutes on this train of thought.  “What brings you to my dreams?”

“I have a surprise for you.”  His blue eyes snap back to yours, and you can almost swear you spot a mischievous spark in them.  “But I was afraid it might worry you.  I just wanted to reassure you, that it’s only me.  You don’t have to be worried.”  
  
“Cas?”  You ask, growing a little suspicious.  “What’s going on?”  It’s not often he indulges in pranks.  And he’s usually fairly obvious.  Now would be an odd time for him to suddenly master the art of pranking.

“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise.”  Castiel answers, a small smirk tugging at one corner of his lips.  He leans down and kisses your forehead.  “Don’t worry.  I will be listening to your thoughts.  If I upset you, or you want to stop for any reason, just think ‘halo.’  I’ll be listening.”

“Why are you reminding me of our safe word?”  Okay, worried isn’t the right word.  But you’re growing very, very suspicious.  Castiel doesn’t answer your question.  He just smirks at you, and vanishes.

It takes you a moment or two to fully register the fact that you’re awake.  The radio is the first thing you consciously register; it’s on and blaring.  The next thing you notice, is the lamp on your nightstand; it’s on.  You frown in the low light, attempting to process the information.  It’s an oddly warm night in the bunker; in your sleep, you’ve kicked off all but the lightest sheet.  You are lying flat on your back in bed.  You roll over half on your side, and fumble on the nightstand until you can smack the radio into silence.  Has someone snuck into the bunker?

The radio switches itself back on.

Castiel’s words from the dream come back to you.  What is your sweet, adorable, goofy angel up to?

Your room gets brighter and brighter, filling slowly with white light.  You squint and cover your eyes with an arm, eyes used to the dark from hours sleeping are throbbing in pain at the sudden light, and let out a whine of wordless complaint.  A moment later, your eyes go huge as comprehension dawns, and you ignore the answering pain from your eyes taking in the increased light.  You remember the pillow talk you’d had last time you’d had sex with Castiel.  He wasn’t… no.  He wouldn’t.  Would he?

The glow increases until it’s a near-solid cloud of white smoke, and it moves through the air quickly, in a way that your hunter’s brain screams at you has to be intelligent, until it surrounds you.  The pain from your tired eyes abruptly fades.  All at once, you feel Castiel’s presence in your mind.  There are no words, nothing spoken out loud.  But it is as if he is cooing his love and adoration in your ear; you can _feel_ the weight and strength of his love for you, and you can feel him showing it to you.  Your eyes flutter shut, overwhelmed; such an incredible being feeling so much love for something as insignificant as _you_.  The thought amuses him, and you can feel it.  He still doesn’t exactly think at you in _words_ , but he mentally urges you to keep your eyes shut.  A gentle pressure on your eyelids, after an experimental attempt to resist, you find that he is holding your eyes shut, just in case.

The sense of his grace touching you is familiar; he has done it many times before.  This time, however, it isn’t shaped into what you would recognize as human body parts.  It occurs to you now that, before, when he caressed your neck, he would use a minor effort of will to shape his grace into a form you would recognize as being like his mouth on you.  Or his hands.  Not so this time.

His grace touches your neck, covering both sides from your ears down to your shoulder.  Your nerves there are set on fire, the careful attention shooting pleasureable sensations into your brain until your back arches and you whimper helplessly.  Your mouth opens, and another tendril of grace enters it.   _This_ one is shaped, and you can feel his desire in your mind to kiss you like he would in a vessel.  The chapped yet soft lips you have grown accustomed to, the stubble scraping the area around your mouth.  With your eyes shut as they are, you can almost fool yourself into thinking his vessel is physically present.  All the while, his grace continues to caress your neck, until all you can do is whimper helplessly into the grace in your mouth.

The sense of a kiss fades, but his grace remains in your mouth.  It forms a gag, holding your mouth in place to prevent biting down at the wrong time and hurting yourself.  You wore to bed that night, you distantly remember, a tank top and a pair of shorts.  A concession to the heat of the bunker.  Castiel doesn’t bother to remove any clothing; you can still feel the press of the cloth on your skin.  Apparently, in his truer form, it doesn’t pose any sort of a boundary.

More grace grabs your breasts, lifting and squeezing them.  A frustrating amount of time passes before you give a muffled but irritated moan, drawing further amusement from the presence in your mind.  Finally, the grace reaches your nipples.  The pressure… your brain searches for a way to describe the sensation and fails utterly.  Caressing, pinching, sucking, nipping; he feels like all of these words at once and more.  Steady muffled, strangled noises drop from your lips, constant sensations of pleasure being sent to your brain from your breasts and neck.  He doesn’t need to trail grace down your stomach, caressing your skin until it reaches your shorts, but he does.  You suppose he’s learned by now the value of teasing you during sex.  You try to jerk your legs, to grab at a hand that isn’t there to tug it down in protest, only to find his grace restraining you.  Your shorts don’t move, don’t even twitch, but still, you feel the tendril of grace slip inside shorts and panties and drag itself against your skin until it reaches your by-now soaked pussy.  It reaches inside you, and you groan and thrash from your restraints, craving the pressure you finally feel at your neglected parts.  His grace expands inside of you, filling you as much as you can take without hurting.  It doesn’t take much; just a couple of experimental thrusts and you’re coming already.

You _try_ to hold back, really.  But he is still caressing you with more of his grace at your neck and breasts, gagging your mouth and preventing you from screaming your pleasure.  Your brain is assaulted with pleasure from so many areas, all you do is _think_ of trying to prolong the feeling before you come, and you are cumming hard.  But for the gag in your mouth, you’d be screaming.  Instead, your throat somehow closes up, and all that escapes are whimpers.  Your back arches, and your hands at your sides curl into fists, clutching the sheet so tightly, you almost expect to hear rips.  You can feel his grace all over your body, seeking all your sensitive spots, and latching on, setting the nerves there on fire and extending your orgasm on and on.  You mentally beg and plead him for relief, for an end, only to receive the mental equivalent of a dark chuckle.  Your legs and arms try to thrash from the pleasure, your hips try to retreat from the sensations his grace are thrusting upon you, but you are still restrained, and are forced to just absorb the pleasure until you feel you’ll burst from it.

Finally, it dies down and your back falls back to the bed.  The tendrils of grace at all the points of your body continue milking you on a bit, until your orgasm finally totally dies, and they retreat slightly.  You can feel more gentle amusement from the presence of your boyfriend in your mind; he did not expect you to come that fast.  More senses of love from him, more reminders of the depth of his feelings for you.  Clumsily, you attempt to return the wordless thoughts to him, reminding him of your own feelings.

Castiel gives you several minutes to recover, his grace holding you as tightly and securely as his vessel’s arms always have.  Then, he begins again.  You feel him cooing in your mind, begging you for another orgasm.  You plea for more time to recover, feeling only amusement and mischievousness in reply.  All of your erogenous zones are attacked, his grace forming an enormous cock inside of you and thrusting hard.  Your gspot is quickly found and stimulated mercilessly, almost like his fingers in you teasing just that spot as the grace-cock pounds you simultaneously, and you try to scream through the gag.  He pinches your nipples painfully, making you writhe.  His grace twines around your chest, arms, and legs, restraining your from thrashing enough to hurt yourself.  He encourages your back to arch into the attention paid to your breasts, preventing retreat.  It’s when it occurs to him to shape the grace at your neck more roughly, mimicking the feel of his vessel’s rough stubble against you, that you come again, just as hard as you did before.

Several more such orgasms (you lost count of how many), and following the last one, you simply pass out.

You wake, what must be several hours later, still lying in bed.  You are on your side, still dressed in the tank top, shorts, and underwear you went to bed in.  You probably should have been sweaty, your hair a mess, and your panties soaked.  You are, however, none of those things.  The likely culprit is lying behind you, spooning you, holding you close in his arms.  Castiel is back in his vessel, totally naked.

“You’re awake.”  Castiel observed aloud, his breath hitting your neck and making you shiver.  You are still shaking and exhausted from last night’s activities.  You try for words to reply, but only manage a weak moan.  Castiel chuckles and kisses you lightly on the shoulder.  “I hope that fulfilled your hopes.  I can tell you I enjoyed myself at least as much as you did, so you don’t need to feel guilty.”  You try to force your exhausted muscles to move, flopping around until Castiel realizes what you’re attempting and gently lifts you and turns you around to face him.

“Thank you.”  You finally, barely, manage something audible.  Castiel smiles, a rare huge, wide smile filling his face and brightening his entire expression.  “I love you.”

“Love you, too.”  Castiel murmurs, and leans forward to kiss you.  Mercifully, it is a relatively chaste kiss; you are so entirely sated, you don’t think you could manage anything remotely sexual for awhile.  Castiel hears the thought, and chuckles into your mouth; a deep, confident chuckle.  You realize with delight that this experience has been as  therapeutic for him as it was for you.  A part of your soul snuggles into him happily, secure in the knowledge that you _did_ , in some way, touch and please the real him.  He, having viewed the height of pleasure he is capable of bringing to the one he loves most from a much closer perspective, is much more self-confident.  A feeling he definitely deserves.


End file.
